


Knife-bright

by Minutia_R



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Bloodplay, Knifeplay, M/M, Trust Kink, mild d/s dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8028406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minutia_R/pseuds/Minutia_R
Summary: Emil is looking up at Lalli with eyes so dark Lalli can hardly see the blue in them, and when they shift sideways to Lalli’s other hand, the one holding the knife, he can read the fear and hunger there.





	Knife-bright

When Lalli puts his hand over Emil’s mouth, Emil kisses it, and Lalli frowns. The brush of dry lips against his dry palm isn’t unpleasant, but it’s against the rules. If Emil isn’t going to be good, he can’t play.

Lalli is halfway tempted to leave and not come back until Emil’s manners improve. He’s more than halfway tempted to slide down Emil’s body and finish matters off quickly with his mouth and hands. Emil won’t mind. Much. Whatever disappointment he feels will be drowned twice, first in pleasure and then in sleep. So.

Emil is sorry. He knows better than to say so now, but he’s doing his sorry face. It makes Lalli impatient. He doesn’t want Emil to be sorry; he wants Emil to be careful. Emil is never careful enough. Lalli could pretend that he’s helping Emil learn to be more careful. It would feel better than the truth, that they’re doing this just for fun. It’s a stupid thing to do for fun.

But--Emil is flat on his back, hot and solid between Lalli’s thighs. When Lalli shifts his hips, their cocks slide against each other, sending thrills all down Lalli’s spine. Emil’s breath catches and stutters, and his hands clench, making the veins stand out on his arms, but he doesn’t move otherwise. He really is trying to be good. He’s looking up at Lalli with eyes so dark Lalli can hardly see the blue in them, and when they shift sideways to Lalli’s other hand, the one holding the knife, he can read the fear and hunger there. So much naked trust is more inflaming than Emil’s naked body. But Lalli is trusting Emil with a lot too, and Emil had better appreciate it.

Because Lalli isn’t going to leave, or leave Emil half-satisfied. Emil is beautiful enough to make Lalli do a hundred stupider things than this. So. Slowly, carefully, he takes Emil’s chin and tilts it backwards, exposing his throat, trailing his fingers down before laying the edge of the knife against it--oh. Emil’s life is so close to the surface here. He swallows, and his adam’s apple moves up and down. Lalli moves the knife along it, soft as a whisper or a kiss. Then he shifts his grip so that just the point rests against Emil’s skin. He presses down. Just a little. If Emil moves now--

He doesn’t. So good, his Emil.

Lalli moves the knife down to the hollow of Emil’s throat, then across his collarbone, leaving behind a faint line with drops of blood welling up occasionally along it, dark against Emil’s pale, moonlight-washed skin. He lowers his mouth to taste them, each one a tiny, perfect burst of salt and iron on his tongue. Pressing close to Emil, he can feel his ragged breathing, the heat and stiffness of his cock trapped between them. He wants that inside him now. And he can have it, can’t he? He can have whatever of Emil that he wants.

There’s a little pot of lube by the side of the bed, and Lalli scoops some up with his fingers. He sits back up on his knees as he works himself open, and he has to support himself with his knife-hand, so for now the blade sits harmlessly in his closed fist on the pillow next to Emil’s head. In the moonlight, colors lose their vividness--Emil’s normally golden hair is the same silver-bright as the knife. Lalli lowers himself onto Emil’s cock, and Emil’s mouth falls open and his eyes flutter closed as Lalli stretches around him, achingly full. So much feeling. But good. Lalli settles himself, lifts his knife again, lays it against Emil’s cheek. Emil is trembling beneath him, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Lalli could mark him here, where everyone would see. He won’t, but he could. Mark him deep enough that it would last. Emil would let him. If Emil asked, Lalli might.

So it’s probably a good thing Emil isn’t allowed to talk right now. There’s stupid, and then there’s stupid.

Instead, he traces lazy, formless curves down Emil’s chest and belly with the tip of the knife, so lightly it leaves no mark at all, and rocks back against him, fucking himself on Emil’s cock. Not enough. “Move,” he tells Emil.

Emil’s hands come up, and Lalli grabs one wrist and slams it back down into the matterss, hard enough to draw a sharp, pained gasp from Emil. The other one follows by itself. “Not your hands,” says Lalli.

Emil blinks and thrusts into him, slowly at first until he matches Lalli’s rhythm. There. Good. Lalli wraps a hand around his own cock and lets the knife glide along Emil’s ribs and then down to the mattress. He can’t be as careful with it as he needs to be now.

But something is wrong. Emil looks for a second like he’s about to say something--then he recollects himself, but there’s a moment where his thrusts falter and he looks upset. Lalli pokes him in the side with the knife handle. “What?”

“Let me--” Emil gasps, and his hands twitch in the sheets. “Please, Lalli, let me do that for you? I want--”

“No.” Emil doesn’t get to move any more than he is now as long as the knife is out. That’s Lalli’s rule. Emil is never careful enough. But--Lalli thrusts up into his hand--so good, he wants more, and why shouldn’t he have it? Then he lets go. “After,” he promises Emil. “Now shh.”

Emil quiets down. He sucks in a breath and gets back to work, putting his hips into it. Lalli lays the knife against his throat where it was at first. Emil whimpers helplessly and his thrusts speed up. He’s so close, and if Lalli hadn’t promised, he would be joining him. Every brush of Emil’s belly against his cock is electric, every movement of Emil inside him impossibly sweet. Lalli bites his lip and keeps his knife-hand steady as long as he can stand it, and then he lowers his face to Emil’s and says, “Now. Come.”

Emil’s hips jerk up from the bed twice, three times--Lalli can feel it in his teeth, almost, and he has just enough self-possession to take the knife away, leaving one last line parallel to the first. Oh, Emil is good. And loud. Lalli has ways of making him be quiet, but he doesn’t usually bother anymore unless there’s someone who might overhear. It’s nice to hear that he’s shown Emil a good time. So Emil shouts until he’s spent, and he lies beneath Lalli twitching and trying to get his breath back.

He also tries to move his arms again, and Lalli shoves him impatiently back down until he’s sheathed the knife and put it aside. Now Emil can move. Lalli doesn’t try to stop him when he pulls Lalli close and snuggles into his side. Even if he is all sweaty and sticky. Lalli is too. It doesn’t matter.

“Thank you,” Emil whispers into Lalli’s neck, in Finnish. It doesn’t matter either that his pronunciation is so awful that Lalli wouldn’t understand him if he weren’t used to it. It’s Emil. It’s nice. It’s especially nice when Emil starts stroking him off. Emil’s hands are big and warm, and they fit perfectly around Lalli’s cock.

There’s no urgency, like there was when Lalli had Emil beneath him, and he was holding the knife. Everything is soft and slow. It’s like he’s floating on his raft in his dream-place, and the world is far away, and nothing matters but Emil’s hands on him.

“Good,” says Lalli. In Finnish too. Is it his fault that he can’t find any Swedish in him right now? Anyway, Emil started it. Lalli brushes his fingers across Emil’s throat where he can still see the faint parallel lines, and says, “You were good.”

Emil makes a small pleased-embarrassed noise. He presses his face into Lalli’s neck and Lalli can feel the heat of it, and Emil doesn’t try to talk again.

Lalli is so caught up in his blissful, distant feelings that his building climax takes him by surprise. He turns suddenly and clings to Emil, and Emil says, “Oh--Lalli--” And that’s all the warning either of them gets before Lalli is coming, his breath ragged and uneven and the stars bright behind his eyes, and Emil’s fingers teasing every last shiver of pleasure from him that they can.

Lalli is already halfway in the dreamworld when Emil wraps his arms around him and presses a kiss to his hair, light as the touch of a blade.


End file.
